They Don't Know
by kwirky
Summary: Danny's mind is riddled with dark thoughts, but he refuses to look for help. Will anyone notice what's going on and try to help, or will Danny be left to spiral out of control? ---- Very dark thoughts, mentions of suicide and child abuse.
1. Chapter 1

This is a very dark fic.

WARNING: Mentions of suicide and child abuse

CSINYCSINYCSINYCSINY

_**They Don't Know**_

I sit here on this dirty stool, in this dirty bar, in this filthy neighborhood. I would have gone to Sullivan's, or even Ray's for a slice, but there would have been too many people at those places. Too many people I know. Too many people who would want to ask me how I was.

They don't know. I've told them enough things about my life to satisfy their natural curiosities. I told them about Tanglewood, Louie, I even told Aiden about the incident with that damned gypsy cab. They all know that I grew up poor, with a family that had strong mob connections. Mac knows about my problems with my colleagues from when I was a beat cop. I told him they didn't like me because of my last name. I guess that wasn't a total lie...

Mac's proud of me because I was able to avoid getting in trouble like my brother. He even told me so at one point. I wonder if he would be proud of me if he saw me now, drinking myself into oblivion with cheap whiskey in a dingy bar. I kinda doubt it.

Stella is always making sure I'm alright. It's not that she thinks I need help or anything. She does the same thing with everyone else. It's just the kind of person she is. That doesn't mean I can't get irritated by it though. Every time she asks me how I'm doing I just want to yell at her and tell her how horrible it really is. I get closer and closer to saying just that every time I see her.

Adam is oblivious to everything. I know he had a tough time growing up, just like me, so I kinda feel like we have that in common. But an abusive childhood isn't something you're supposed to bond over. Two people are supposed to become friends because they have similar tastes in music or some shit like that. What am I supposed to do? Just walk up to him and unload on him, then expect him to reveal something about himself back? That's not how the world works.

Lindsay... God, I love her, but she's so out of my league. I have no idea why she even wants to hang around me, much less date me. I mean, seriously, why would she want to associate herself with a fuck up like me? With me, it's one mistake after another. Oh well. I might as well try to enjoy having some one while it lasts. Though I know it won't last long. She's bound to leave me soon.

Flack's always been pretty cool about not getting all mushy. Only time he really worried about me was after I shot that cop down in the subway. He probably thought I was gonna do something stupid. And I don't mean like going and talking to the DA stupid. He watched me like a hawk for a while after that. He still asks me how I'm doing, but it's not a question of concern. It's more like just the way he greets people. Still, every time he asks me, I feel the urge to respond truthfully. I just want to scream that I'm not fine, that I'm such a coward that I can't even kill myself. Instead, I restrain myself and answer with 'fine' or 'pretty good'.

The last few weeks, all of these things have bearing down on me. Aiden, Minhas, Ruben, and then there's the fact that the anti-depressants have stopped working. It scares the crap out of me when I arrive at the scene of an obvious suicide and I find myself jealous of the vic. They had the courage that I'm never able to muster. Every night, I sit on my couch and stare at my gun. A little voice in my head tells me to just do it. They would all be better off without me. Mac wouldn't have to worry about me fucking up in the field again. Lindsay would be able to find some one that actually deserves a relationship with her. Don would be able to find some one else to fill the position of 'best friend'. But I can never bring myself to actually do it. I'm too much of a fucking coward.

There's no reason for me to stay here anymore. I figure they all might be sad. Hell, my parents might even shed a tear or two... if they even came to the funeral. After the sadness though, they'd just be disappointed. Or they'd simply forget about me. I could live with that.

It's past midnight when I realize that I'm completely drunk. For a minute, I'm worried about what Mac will have to say about me coming in to work with a hangover, but I realize that I really don't care anymore. Maybe, when I get home tonight, I'll actually find the courage to pull the trigger. Then I won't have to worry about going in to work at all.

I stumble off my seat and pay for my drinks.

My thoughts are still riddled with contemplations as I make my way home.

CSINYCSINYCSINYCSINY

This was actually quite a bit darker then I had intended it to be. I may change this into a multi-chapter fic if I get enough reviews.

Also, I'm not completely clear on the rating system. I rated this fic T, because of all the dark thoughts, but should I bump it up to M because of the mentions of suicide? I'm not really sure.

Please review!! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**I've decided to continue with this story. I'm not sure how long it will be... probably only a few chapters**

**This one is kinda short...**

(Danny's Point of View)

I've been sitting here for two hours, trying to figure out how to do this. I've never actually been able to get this far. I usually chicken out before I'm able to get to this point. I want to try to explain myself. I know some of them will be mad at me, and nothing I write can really make them fully understand, but I'd like to try...

I sit back and read what I've written...

_I'm sorry,_

_I never thought it would actually come to this. In the past, I've always been able to talk_

___myself out of it. I'd tell myself to just get over it, or I would just take a double dose of _

___the anti-depressants, but that just didn't work this time._

_Mac, I'm sure you'll be the first one to read this. I'm sorry I've been such a disappointment _

_to you. There are so many things I wish I could have changed. I just wanted you to know, _

_I always thought of you as a father, more then my own dad. I'm sorry I couldn't be better. _

_Please tell the rest of the team that I'm sorry too._

_Good bye._

It's short, but that doesn't matter. I would have written it differently, but I know Mac will be the one to find me.

Stella and Lindsay would probably wonder where I was once they noticed I didn't come in for work, but they'd just figure I stayed home sick or something.

Adam, Hawkes and Sid probably wouldn't notice I was gone at all. It's not like I see them a whole lote during the course of a single day.

Once he realized I hadn't come in, Flack might be a little pissed, but he'd figure we'd be able to talk later when we met up for our weekly basketball game.

Mac... Mac would probably be the one to come and try to figure out why I wasn't at work. He wouldn't be concerned though. He'd just be pissed about my absence. He'd be the one to find me.

I took the piece of paper and carefully folded it. In neat letters, I wrote 'Mac' and laid the note on the coffee table in front of me.

Finally, I sit back and think about what I'm doing. Do I really want this? Do I really want to die? I look at the gun on the table. I lean forward and I grab it.

Yes... I do.

**Yes, once again, it was quite dark and depressing...**

**Please Review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Hey. Still not very sure how far I'm gonna go with this fic. I guess we'll see..

Hope you all enjoy it!

**Chapter Three**

(Mac's POV)

I had been worried about the young detective for weeks now. After everything that's happened, I've been keeping a close eye on him, watching for any warning signs. I knew he was taking anti-depressants. He didn't know that I knew though. I had been looking for a file on his desk. He had left and forgotten to give it to me. I opened one of the drawers and there they were. It said Prozac in nice little, neat letters on the label. It had surprised me, to say the least. Until that moment, I had never thought of Daniel Messer as some one who would get depressed. Since then I had been extra careful. Danny was like a son to me. And lately, I hadn't seen anything that warranted any sort of intervention.

But today was different. I'd been worried about Danny all day. He had been scheduled to come in for his shift at nine am. I had never been that much of a stickler for tardiness, so I hadn't noticed his absence until well past ten. A fact I am actually quite ashamed of. Now, it's almost noon and I find myself in the elevator of Danny's apartment building, wishing for the damned contraption to move faster. I just had this feeling in my gut that something was wrong. I decided to take my lunch break to investigate. I didn't tell anyone though. There was no need to worry anyone else.

Finally, the elevator reached Danny's floor and I walked out. I had been to Danny's place enough times for several different reasons to remember which door is his. I stop in front of it and sigh. If Danny is just playing hooky, he is going to be in big trouble. I couldn't actually bring myself to believe that as a possibility though. Despite Danny's tendency to bend the rules, he was very rarely late, let alone absent for the whole day.

I let out another breath before knocking on the door, "Danny," I yell. I wait a few moments before knocking again. "Danny! Come on, open up!" I listened carefully. There was absolutely no movement coming from inside the apartment. It worries me. I had seen his motorcycle parked outside, so he is most definitely home.

Letting my instincts take over, I reached into my back pocket and pull out a key. A few years ago, Danny had given me a key to his place, 'just in case,' he had said. I was reluctant to use it. Danny was always a fairly private person. Surely, he wouldn't want me just barging into his apartment.

But my worry about Danny's well-being trumps my worries about his personal boundaries.

I shove the key into the lock, turn it, and push the door open. Slowly, I walk in, not knowing what I would find.

What I see makes me freeze. My heart leaps up into my throat and for a moment, I can't breathe.

The lights are off, but I can clearly see everything in the room. Including Danny, sitting on his worn, beat up couch... with a gun in his hand. I can plainly see how he stares at it. Although I want to deny it, I know what's going on. The stale smell of whiskey assaults my senses and I see a neatly folded piece of paper on the coffee table in front of him. I hold back a shudder as I realize what that piece of paper is; a suicide note.

Tentatively, I take a step forward. "Danny?" I say, trying to get his attention without startling him. He doesn't respond. He just keeps on staring at the weapon, as though he's asking the cold piece of metal if he should actually do it or not. "Danny, please look at me." I say. This time, I'm sure the desperation is clear in my voice. I take another step forward. He takes a deep breath, but doesn't look up. "Danny, give me the gun." He finally looks up at me. What I see in his eyes breaks my heart.

For the many years that I'd known Danny, I'd always noticed how he expressed his emotions with his eyes. On the outside, he was the tough Staten Island kid who had eventually turned into the tough New York police officer, who had turned into the tough, intelligent crime scene investigator. And that was how he was seen by the majority of his peers. But the lucky few who truly got to know Daniel Messer soon learned that he was a very emotional person. Whenever there was a case where a child was involved, I could always detect the sadness and anger that swirled around in those deep blue eyes. When a perp got away with murder, I could always see the barely controlled rage that he felt. And when a particularly sick murderer was finally caught, I could always see the unbridled glee that he felt when he was able to slap the cuffs on the bastard. I was always alright with it. I wasn't going to reprimand him for being emotional, as long as those emotions didn't cloud his judgment.

But the eyes I'm looking at now aren't the eyes of the Danny Messer I know. They are completely devoid of emotion. There is no happiness, no anger, or even sadness. He seems to have simply turned himself off. I think that scares me more than anything else.

Seeing this prompts me to take action. I take the last few steps toward the sitting detective and I gently take the gun from his hand. I step back and, with little thought, I release the clip and remove the bullet in the chamber. Having rendered the gun nearly useless, I lay is on the coffee table. Danny looks down once again.

I sit on the coffee table so that my knees are almost touching his. "Danny, what are you doing?" I ask. I know what he was doing, but I want him to explain it to me. I want to understand, so that I can help him.

I see his eyes flicker up to me and then back down to the floor. "Danny," I say, this time a little more forcefully. "I just... I need to know... Why?" My voice cracks on the last word. Tears are beginning to fall down my face.

"Why not?" He speaks for the first time since my arrival. But what kind of response is it?

I swallow, trying to keep my voice even. "Danny," I fail. "Do you honestly feel that there is no reason for you to live?"

I feel my heart crack just a little bit more when he shrugs. "Why should I stay?" he asks, "No one would care if I was gone. You'd all be better off."

Please Review! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm so proud of myself! I updated on all three of my stories today! yay me!**

**I hope you all enjoy it!**

**Chapter Four**

(Mac's point of view)

I was shocked by Danny's words. Then I got angry. How could Danny really think that? That no one would miss him?

Giving him a hard look, I got to my feet and after taking a good look at the inebriated man before me and concluding that he wasn't going to run, I quietly made my way to his bedroom. After rifling through his closet, I found a small duffel bag. Opening the drawers of his dresser, I threw a few articles of clothing into the bag, enough to last Danny a couple days. I then went to the bathroom and collected the toothbrush I found laying on the counter. I was about to grab the razor too, but quickly decided against it. With what I had just witnessed, a razor would not be a good thing to have around. After collecting a few more things, I walked back into the living room to find Danny exactly as I had left him. I threw the duffel bag into his lap, making him flinch at the sudden contact.

"Get up." I said, "You're coming to staying with me for a while." The tone of my voice left no room for argument.

Danny looked up at me, a mixture of surprise and confusion apparent in his expression, but he didn't protest. He didn't say anything, actually. He simply stood up. Seeing this as acceptance to my demands, I took him by the shoulder and led him out the door and down the stairs. Danny's head stayed down. From what I could see of his face, his expression was once again devoid of any emotion. I opened the passenger side door and he silently slid into the seat, keeping his duffel bag in his lap. I slammed the door shut and walked around to the driver's side and slid into my own seat. After pulling on my seatbelt, I looked over at Danny, waiting for him to do the same. When he didn't move, I let out a sigh and reached over, grabbed the seatbelt and pulled it across his chest. Danny's only response was to pull his arms out from under the restricting material and place them back in his lap.

I gave him another worried look and started the car. The entire trip to my apartment was spent in silence. Even the usual hum of traffic seemed quieter than usual. Several times during the trip, I took my eyes off the road to glance over at Danny. He was no longer looking down. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the passing cars as we continued down the busy streets. His expression was still blank.

When we finally arrived at my apartment building, I parked and, without hesitating, I reached over and I unbuckled Danny's seatbelt. He continued to stare out the window with unfocused eyes. He didn't move. I hadn't expected him to. I got out of the car and walked to Danny's door. I opened it and once again took Danny by the shoulder and led him toward the door. I could feel the muscles tense under my hand, but I didn't remove it from his shoulder.

Once we were in my apartment, my hand left Danny's shoulder as I threw my keys onto the hall table next to the front door. I looked back to see Danny standing stone still, his eyes still unfocused.

"Danny," I said. He didn't respond. "I have a spare room at the end of the hall. You can sleep there." It was then that I noticed how tired Danny looked. He appeared about ready to fall over. Has he been having trouble sleeping? "You can go rest if you want, Danny. You look tired."

He silently turned and made his way down the hall. After hearing the door close, I let myself fall down on my sofa. Letting out a big breath, I thought about what else need to be done. I would need to go through my apartment and remove anything that Danny could use to hurt himself. I desperately wanted to believe that this incident was a one time thing, that once Danny sobered up, he would be okay, but the logical part of my mind told me that that just wasn't the case. I let out another breath as the situation finally sank in. Danny- _Our Danny_ was suicidal. It was hard to believe, almost impossible actually. Danny was always so happy. He sometimes let his emotions get in the way and his past had been coming back to haunt him in the last couple years, but despite that, he always seemed so optimistic. Especially since he and Lindsay gotten together. Neither of them knows that I am aware of their relationship, but I'm not blind. Is Lindsay aware of her boyfriend's struggle? Should I call her? What about the rest of the team? They might be able to help, but Danny might not react well to other people knowing about his current emotional state.

Letting out one final breath, I decide that those things could be decided tomorrow. I slowly rise from my sofa and walk into the kitchen. Looking around, I first notice the knife block sitting on the counter next to the oven. I grab it and shove it to the back of the cupboard above the fridge. I search each drawer, taking out any knives and hiding them in the cupboard as well. After double checking and feeling that there wasn't anything else that needed to be removed, I moved on to the bathroom. I open the drawer beneath the sink and take out my razor. I open the medicine cabinet. I see several bottles of pills; some Tylenol, Advil, cough syrup. And then there are the sleeping pills I've been taking the last few months as well as an old prescription bottle of pain killers that I never used after being injured a few years back. I grab them all and dump them into a large Ziploc bag. I put the bag and the razor in the cupboard next to the knives.

I suddenly feel guilty. It's almost as if I were keeping Danny prisoner. But I'd rather have him hate me than have to attend another funeral.

Feeling satisfied that Danny was safe for the time being, I walked down the hall. Quietly, I opened Danny's door just a crack. I could see him sprawled out on the bed on top of the blankets. He was even more tired than I thought. At least he's asleep now. Maybe he'll be more willing to talk tomorrow. I look at my watch. It's now five thirty. It's hard to believe that six or seven hours ago, I was in my office, doing paperwork, completely oblivious to what Danny was going through.

I quietly close the door and walk back to my living room.

**THE END... jk**

**The next chapter will probably be from Danny's POV, but I'm not entirely sure yet.**

**Please Review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for all the reviews guys!**

**Yes, it's another short one.**

**Chapter five**

I wake up to a pounding headache and aching limbs. It feels like my head's on fire. I guess that's what I get for trying to drink my emotions away.

For several minutes, I simply lay there, my eyes still closed, because I know exactly what I'll have to face when I finally _do_ get out of bed. I'll have to face the fact that I failed again. I'll have to get ready for work. I'll have to choke down half of a cereal bar for breakfast and then I'll have to get through a full shift of dead bodies. Actually, with my luck, I'll probably get stuck with a double shift.

But I don't really have a choice.

I let a loud groan out into my pillow before finally sitting myself up and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Then, I finally let my eyes open.

And I'm very confused.

This is not my bedroom... or my apartment for that matter.

I look around frantically, trying to figure out where I am. Trying to remember what happened last night. I remember getting wasted at the bar, and then I went home and got even more wasted, then... I don't remember. I _do _remember what I had been planning to do. The fact that I'm still here tells me that I failed... just like I always do.

A gentle knock on the door makes me jump and I tumble off the bed onto the floor with a loud thump.

I hear a muffled voice call through the door, "Danny? Are you alright?"

It takes me a minute to recognize Mac's voice. What the hell am I doing at Mac's place?

"Danny?' Mac calls again. I see the door knob start to turn and I panic. I can't honestly say _why_ I start to panic, but I can feel my heart speed up to the point that I can feel it pounding in my chest.

"I'm fine, Mac." I call out, disgusted with the way my voice cracks, revealing my emotions.

I listen carefully for a response. For a while, I hear nothing but silence, then soft footsteps leading away from the door. I let out a sigh of relief and lift myself off the floor. Looking around, I spot a familiar duffel bag. Mac must have packed it for me, because I don't remember doing it. I rifle through it, quickly pulling out a clean set of clothes. I look through the bag a little more, seeing what all Mac packed for me. There are a couple more sets of clothing and all the necessary toiletries. Oddly enough, my razor seems to be missing though. I don't really give it much thought.

After changing into the fresh set of clothes, I grab my toothbrush and quietly slip out of the guest room and into the bathroom.

I really hope Mac isn't too mad at me.

******Guys, I'm really s**orry I haven't been updating very often. Under no circumstances am I going to be giving up on any of my stories, but I do have several things over the summer that will require me to be away from a computer for several days at a time, so the wait between updates may become kind of a regular thing... Sorry. However, while I am away, I will continue to write in my notebook. That way I can update right when I get home. :)

**Just so you know, the only reason I made this chapter so short is because I want the conversation that is to follow to be from Mac's POV.**

**Please Review!**


End file.
